


Walls

by whichstiel



Series: Season 14 Codas [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker, Episode Tag, Episode: s14e04 Mint Condition, Episode: s14e05 Nightmare Logic, M/M, Nightmare Logic, Spn 14x05, episode coda, mint condition, spn 14x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-19 18:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16539572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: A coda for Mint Condition and Nightmare Logic. Cas and Dean reconnect in the bunker after returning from their respective hunts.





	Walls

Castiel’s phone pings in his coat and he pats at it gently, as though trying to soothe it. He and Jack are waiting in the lobby of a coroner’s office, seated on stern plastic chairs that rock as Castiel shifts to pull out his phone. It’s a grim case with three shredded bodies awaiting their evaluation in the next room. Jack coughs next to him, hunched and miserable over a tissue. His cold has been getting worse, and the hardest part of the hunt is still ahead of them. 

But something within Castiel that feels like an angry, tight spring loosens when he looks at his phone. It’s a photo of Dean clearly taken while he’s unaware. He’s leaning over the rear window of his car, meticulously cleaning grime off of the glass while the tank fills. In the orange light of the station his expression appears relaxed. Almost peaceful. Dean’s in his element on the road.  _ Got him out the door _ , Sam’s caption reads, and Castiel smiles. 

_ Good _ , he replies back. He’d been worried. 

There are two message streams taking the top slots on Castiel’s messaging app. The first is from Sam. The second is comprised of messages sent to Dean. Dean’s replies are mainly emojis or terse phrases and once, a photo of a fresh pizza still in the box. Castiel regrets leaving him, although he knows his attempts to draw Dean out would have been shrugged off just as brusquely as Sam’s. Dean has always been prone to burrowing during crisis.

_ Dean, how are you doing? _

_ We’ve made it to West Virginia. Not much further now. _

_ As you suggested, I’ve introduced Jack to pepperoni rolls. He likes them. _

_ How are you? _

_ Sam tells me you’ve set up a TV in your room. I look forward to seeing your new setup when I return. _

_ I think the radio is broken in this vehicle. For the best, perhaps. Jack can sleep in the quiet. Or as quiet as highway travel can be.  _

_ You must be busy.  _

_ I miss you. _

Dean replied to the last, at least, with a little more than he had before.  _ (Miss you too.)  _ Still, Castiel worried about him. But now Dean’s on the hunt again and it feels like a blooming miracle and a natural cog of the world slotting into place all at the same time.

Castiel tucks his phone back in his pocket and slumps a little in his rickety chair. Dean will be alright. Sam’s watching out for him, and the job will bring him out of it. 

* * *

Ten days later Castiel hesitates outside of Dean’s door. In the perma-light of the bunker he can barely make out the flickering glow of the TV from under the door, but he can hear it. He could hear the sounds of screaming, the whir of chainsaws, from all the way down the hallway.

Castiel raps his knuckles against the door in two staccato taps. “It’s open,” Dean says and Castiel turns the knob and enters. 

Dean’s room looks better than it had when Castiel left. There are no clothes on the floor and only one beer bottle cluttering the shelf behind his bed. Castiel is reminded once again of the human tendency to externalize their emotional state onto the physical world around them. Picking up on that social cue has helped Castiel immeasurably and he smiles to think how far he has come - and how Dean has improved.

Dean reclines against the head of the bed, slumped down so the two pillows he’s stacked behind his back provide only a modicum of support. He’s in his stocking feet and time-softened jeans, legs crossed at the ankles and hands draped lazily over his torso. When he looks up and meets Castiel’s eye, he grins. Relief warms Castiel like a spreading vine growing out from the lump of worry that had been squatting in his gut.

“Well, how the hell’s our new hunter?” Dean asks. “Road construction didn’t give you any trouble, did it?”

“No. Not much.” Castiel closes the door behind him and crosses over towards the bed. “What are you watching?”

“Texas Chainsaw Massacre: Rev it Up,” Dean says, as though this is something Castiel should know. As though he’s just named a defining work of art that has endured across centuries.

Castiel screws up his face in thought. “Is that the one with the football camp?”

“Yup,” Dean replies with relish, sitting up as Castiel approaches. He pulls a pillow out from behind his back and slaps it against the headboard so that it squats side by side with the other. He scoots to the side a little and lets Castiel slide onto the bed next to him and settle back against the proffered pillow. 

They sit back, shoulders pressed together and thigh to thigh. Castiel watches the movie with interest. It appears to be another morality fable. “That cheerleader seems to be the most regretful about covering up the death of their friend in that tree felling incident. I think she will be the lone survivor.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah?” 

Castiel nods, squinting at the TV. “And that man, too. The...love interest?”

“Love interest always survives,” Dean affirms. “You’re getting pretty good at this, Cas.”

“It’s like a mathematical formula,” Castiel says, trying to baffle down the warm glow of pride that suffuses him over such a small compliment. “Easy to solve once you possess the tools.”

“One way to look at it,” Dean agrees, then leans forward and then back again, pressing his shoulder against Castiel’s torso. Castiel takes the hint and winds his arm around Dean’s waist, hooking his fingers in the warm fold of Dean’s pocket. Dean reclines with a soft sigh, slumping down into Castiel’s embrace. His head falls to the side until his hair tickles Castiel’s cheek. They lean into each other while, onscreen, a man in a goalie mask slowly approaches the abandoned cabin the two protagonists are hiding in. Music trembles in the room, covering the sounds of shifting fabric as they relax against each other. 

Castiel half watches the movie. It’s easy to follow and the chainsaw murderer looks laughably easy to evade. One roll to the side and an upthrust blade would take care of him quickly and efficiently. 

Castiel wonders about Dean.

Dean seems relaxed and Castiel refuses to disturb him with talk of hunting or introspective lines of questioning. “How are you doing?” has to be one of the most loaded lines of questioning he could follow. He wonders if Dean might be drifting off to sleep until Dean’s hand slips back and casually encircles his own, drawing it from his pocket slowly. Dean repositions his palm, slipping their joined hands under the soft hem of his shirt until Castiel’s knuckles brush the skin above his waistband. 

Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changes. The movie might as well be playing in another state; its only utility is to wash their bodies in dim, flickering light. 

Castiel takes the hint and unfurls his fingers from Dean’s palm to slide them slowly, slowly along the soft skin he finds there. Dean shifts and sucks in his stomach, and the new gap in his waistband is an invitation. Castiel takes it. Slides his hand down to brush along the sensitive skin there. 

Dean moves again, his hips canting forward just a fraction. “Cas,” he sighs, rolling his head so he can nose along Castiel’s jaw. Castiel tilts his head away as Dean turns into him, exposing the planes of his throat to Dean’s lips. Dean’s teeth. He clamps down on his grace. He lets the feelings in him build.

It wasn’t always easy for him to open up like this. To let go. It took practice, like any other human thing he tackled. But like any other human thing, it’s well worth the effort. 

Dean turns into Castiel’s embrace, hungry lips exploring his neck, one hand loosening his tie. Castiel can make him lock up with just a turn of his fingers, sliding along the length of his filling erection. He pulls his hand from Dean’s waistband to better hold him in place and shifts his other hand to undo the button and slide down the zipper of his jeans. Castiel rubs his hand appreciatively along Dean’s cotton-clad length, plunging down into the warm vee of his legs, pressing lightly against the flesh he finds there.

Castiel turns his head to claim Dean’s lips and Dean licks into his mouth so hungrily that Castiel can’t help himself. He lunges upward and in one smooth movement, he straddles Dean, who slides down to accommodate the new position. He grins beautifully up at Castiel.

Dean slots his hands under the lapels of Castiel’s suit coat, lifting both it and his trench from his shoulders and pushing them backwards. He breaks the kiss to mutter, “Take these off, man. Come on.”

Castiel complies readily, settling back on Dean’s legs and shrugging them off into a pool of fabric on the floor. He reaches to undo his tie but Dean stops him, winding the tie in his fist and pulling Castiel close. They kiss. Castiel’s heart thunders. His body feels like a river at high flood stage, alive and dangerous. 

The ride the river together, shedding clothing and using their lips and fingers to bore past each others walls as swift and careful as a diamond-bit drill.

They become a tangle of warm skin in a nest of shed clothing as Dean shivers beneath him. Castiel presses his mouth to a nipple and sucks. He nips the skin, his hand busy stroking Dean to completion. Dean moans and grips Castiel’s ass in one hand, his hair in another. 

Castiel rubs his own leaking cock against Dean’s muscled leg as he strokes and licks. The only thing he bothers to hear is the sound of their breath, of skin against skin against bedding. The bed creaks stoically beneath them. Need builds in his own flesh as well and he lets himself tumble further into the well of his own lust as he feels Dean’s approaching orgasm. He frees his mouth to invoke Dean’s name.

“Fu— Cas!” Dean’s reply barely registers, morphing so quickly into a bliss-hazed groan as he comes over Castiel’s fingers. 

Castiel works him through it, easing his kisses into something more careful, more intimate. He lets Dean roll him over, bares his own body to Dean’s ministrations, and comes with something halfway between a sigh and a moan. 

They lie together in the knotted bedclothes, sticky and cooling in the scrubbed bunker air. Dean laughs, inarticulate, and draws his limbs up and around Cas, binding him with an arm around his waist. 

“Ah,” Dean says on a long, contented exhale. “Missed you, man.”

* * *

When Castiel returns from Sarasota, he finds Dean in the garage standing at the workbench. He’s hunched over the bench, steadily polishing something metallic with a grease-stained rag. Despite the willow-bow bend of his back, Castiel can see that every inch of him is tense.

Wary of disturbing him, Castiel hails him gently when he’s still steps away. 

“You’re back,” Dean greets him without turning around. “How’d it go?”

“Fairly well.” There’s more to say - about the case and about Jack - but Castiel approaches carefully and leans in faux nonchalance against the workbench. “How was your latest?”

Dean shrugs and his body screams turmoil even as he turns an impassive eye to Castiel.

They meet each other's’ gaze for a short time, both of them assessing what the other sees and knows.

Dean sighs and lets one shoulder fall. “It was a little rough,” he confesses. “Parts of it, anyway.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Dunno.”

Castiel picks up a wrench and spins it in his fingers until it’s a fast moving silver blur. It’s a nice set of wrenches and the weight distribution is good. “Okay. Want company?”

Dean rolls his eyes and makes a grab for the wrench. He scowls, but a spark’s been lit by the familiar exchange. “How many times do I gotta say? That’s not a toy,” he admonishes as a smile tugs at his mouth. 

Castiel lets Dean take the wrench and slot it back into its place on the workbench. He settles into the tall stool, rests his chin on his hand, and together he and Dean sink behind a wall placed between themselves and the rest of the world. 

Reality will intrude, as it always does. But for now Castiel is content to sit trading barbs and debating the relative merits of B-list actors, and watch a fond smile flit across Dean’s features like the sun cutting through a cloudy sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Who has two thumbs and forgot how to write? This girl. 
> 
> It’s been a busy couple of weeks, etcetera, but here is a combo coda at last. Like squeezing milk from a stone I swear to god.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
